


The Way Forward

by Chrissy24601



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Because Javert won't accept it, Dark, Drama, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Suicide, Valjean's kindness is killing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:08:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrissy24601/pseuds/Chrissy24601
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“Had anyone but you set me free from that barricade, I would not be here now. Had you not surrendered to me when I happened upon you after believing you dead – again, I should add! – I would not be here now.”</em><br/><em>“I did only what was just,” Valjean said.</em><br/><em>“And that is</em> exactly<em> what troubles me so!”</em></p><p> Less a fill than a story inspired by a Les Mis Kink Meme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way Forward

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [无路可退](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5891890) by [suya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suya/pseuds/suya)



> Dark story inspired by this prompt: "No AU. Valjean (or Madeleine) being kind or touching Javert's hand. I am hoping for a very in-character, reserved Javert who hates the thought of showing emotion but in this one instance can't stop himself. Bonus points for creating an explanation for why Javert turned out so rigid and alone. Ending is up to the author."
> 
> I tried to stay as true to canon as I could while making this happen, to the point of writing with the Brick open before my keyboard (it tends to show in my writing style when I do that). 
> 
> In case someone missed the trigger warnings: this is NOT a happy fic. Enjoy anyway ;P

Javert closed the glazed and grated door of the police post behind him and crossed the darkness that was Place du Châtelet. He kept his mind blank as his footsteps echoed in the night. There was nothing left to think about. He had burned his bridges, and now he was heading towards the last one to leave behind him.

The darkness of the night was complete. Clouds concealed the stars, the lights of Paris had doused but for a handful of streetlights, and the mist had had begun to form over the river obscured what little might be still visible. He returned to the point where he had been standing earlier, expecting the bridge to be as deserted as the quays and streets. But it was not.

A silhouette stood by the parapet, not far from the point he had been heading for. It was instantly recognisable as a man, albeit a dishevelled one. Perhaps a beggar or a drunk, but Javert quickly dispelled that thought as he approached the bridge. In the dim light of the lamp that hung by the curb of the quay, his eyes confirmed what his nose already suspected. His jaw worked at the prospect, but he did not yield or turn to leave.

“Jean Valjean,” he simply stated, loud enough for the other to hear.

Valjean, for it was indeed him, straightened. He had watched as Javert approached, evidently seeking a confrontation once more. Javert, however, was not inclined to suffer this man any longer.

“Leave,” Javert commanded, cutting short whatever Valjean might have wanted to say or do. “Go away. I am done with you.”

He walked past Valjean, ignoring the man, and took up his previous position by the parapet, arms resting on the stone. Beneath him stretched a pitch black abyss where the Seine should be. He heard the swollen river’s angry growl, but did not see its waters. It mattered little. He knew of the rapid below and of the reputation of its currents. It would more than suffice for what he intended to do.

“Javert, why did you not wait, as you said you would? I told you, I am prepared to go with you.”

Every muscle in his body stilled until he recognised Valjean’s tone to be that of genuine ignorance. Both perplexed and exasperated, he turned his head enough to look at the man.

“I do not know whether it is old age, the fumes of the sewer or a pre-existing condition that has addled your brain, Valjean, but I do believe you must be demented.”

The older man frowned, a pained expression on his face. “I assure you I am not. I merely resigned to my fate. As I said, when I told you my name and address, I considered myself your captive from that moment.”

“And so you expected me to arrest you at the first opportunity,” Javert added. “Yet when I had the chance, I left.”

“So you did.”

His lips pulled into a thin, cruel smile. “What do you conclude from that?”

“That it is not me who is crazy, but you.”

The words were said with the utmost sincerity, but Javert could not help but bark a laugh.

“Ha! And why not? First I was called crazy for believing an upstanding citizen to be a former convict, and now I am called crazy for believing that same former convict to be an upstanding citizen! Yes, the irony does not escape me.”

Valjean took a few steps to close the distance between them. “What are you saying?”

“ _Go_ , Valjean. No, what do you call yourself now? Fauchelevent. Go back to your house; to the girl you call your daughter.” He made a dismissive gesture. “As far as the law is concerned, Jean Valjean has been dead for years. You are safe from its clutches, whether or not you belong in them.”

“You mean to say that… you will not arrest me?”

“I should, but I cannot,” Javert growled in reply. Below him, the water of the river gurgled as it rushed over the rapid. “Now leave me be. There is a matter I need to attend to; one that does not warrant spectators.”

But Valjean did not retreat in the least. “What happened that such a matter even came up?” he asked, keeping a few feet between them as he, too, rested his arms on the parapet.

Ah, the man could hear what was not said. He was truly not demented then. It was almost a relief. To think his world had been shattered by the chance bumbling of an idiot would be even less bearable to Javert than it was now. Not that it would have made any difference in the outcome, but even so…

“You are no longer a magistrate and I no longer answer to you,” he said.

Valjean pursed his lips. “I believe I am entitled to an answer nevertheless. I prevented your death at the barricade barely a day ago. I did not do that with the intention that you should seek death at your own hand.”

“You saved my life there, but I had rather you had not. It would have been so much easier if you had but killed me there.” 

The other man looked away. “I may have been condemned as a thief and a parole-breaker, but I have never so much as considered taking a human life. Not even yours.”

“You may have yet, if not directly by your own hand.”

Valjean sighed, but it was a commiserate sigh; a sound Javert was not accustomed to hearing. “I only meant to do well be my fellow man,” he said. “How can it be that a simple human kindness could wound anyone so deeply?”

Javert bared his teeth in something that might have been called a grin if there had been any trace of amusements in his eyes. There was none.

“You forced me to trade your life for mine. I did, and we are even now. I owe you _nothing_!”

“Then indulge me,” Valjean said. “You have nothing to lose by doing so.”

“I do have my dignity, Valjean.”

“Is that so? I cannot imagine a suicide has much dignity left, or he would not consider the act at all. So pray tell, what it is that drives you to do so?”

Javert glared at him, but the effect was lost in the darkness. Valjean did not move and it was becoming quite obvious that this insufferable man would not leave him in peace until he had his answer.

“I do not expect you to understand,” Javert said through gritting teeth. “You never did want to see that kindness – _mercy_ \- is nothing short of chaos.”

“That would depend on what you believe defines order,” said Valjean.

“The only thing that brings order to society, is the law,” Javert said vehemently. “Kindness destroys that order! It has neither structure nor reason to it, and at random it grants an unjust absolution to those who should be punished. Not only does it relieve those individuals of their responsibility, but by knowing of and expecting kindness, _all_ people are robbed their incentives to abide by the law! Kindness creates a cancer inside society that gives men leave to commit crime at their leisure! That is why, in all my life, I have never given nor sought it.” Breathing hard, he gazed at Valjean. “And then you came… A beneficent malefactor, a compassionate convict. Such a monster as should not be allowed to exist!” His fists clenched tightly, but his voice dropped low. “Yet here you are, bestowing your infernal kindness on me who would not have it. I never asked you to spare my life. I was a spy and I got caught. If I were to be murdered by those students, that would be regrettable, but just.”

Valjean nodded gravely. “Yet now I prevented this, is it just that you should take your own life instead?”

“Of course not!” Javert snapped. “Had anyone but you set me free from there, I would not be here now. Had you not surrendered to me when I happened upon you after believing you dead – again, I should add! – I would not be here now.”

“I did only what was just,” Valjean said.

“And _that_ is exactly what troubles me so!”

Valjean turned to him in genuine query. “I do not understand?”

Javert inhaled deeply, smelling the wet stones and the dirty, milling water. How to explain something so obvious to himself? Come to that, he was surprised that he even felt the need to explain in the first place. But he did. Perhaps if he spoke the words out loud, they would make sense to him as well.

 “I never sought to be humane,” he said eventually, staring in to the darkness. “I never strived to be great or sublime. I merely strived to be irreproachable. I had to. When I was young, I had but two options: on one hand was the criminal cesspool I was born in, and on the other defending society against that very filth.”

“You mean you were—?”

“—the bastard child of convicts, yes. The law has always been my religion, because it was my salvation. I served it as faithfully and as diligently as others serve God. As long as I did not falter, I could redeem myself of the sins of those who put me in this world.”

Valjean folded his arms. “Diligence is one thing. Your dedication by far surpasses that. I serve God to the best of my ability, but I have never considered myself a slave to him; not as you appear to have made yourself a slave of the law.”

Javert stilled at that comparison, considering it. “You are right. I am a slave of the law, but willingly so. I let the law chain me, so I would not fall. So my criminal heritage would not manifest, as I always feared it would, one day…” Very carefully, he removed his hat and set it on the parapet before him. “Today is that day. Today I betrayed the law. I have put personal motives before those of society and allowed a convict to escape the law for no other reason than that I owe him my life.”

“I am still here,” said Valjean quietly. “I did not run and do not intent to. I am still at your disposal.”  

“I cannot pretend that none of this happened, Valjean. You are what you cannot be: a convict, but good man. You gave me my life, and it is nothing but just that I should give you yours in return.” He shuddered. “However, this twisted interpretation of justice has made me the blackguard I fought so hard to never become. I failed my duty and my beliefs, in the most grotesque way possible.”

“Because you chose to show mercy where you feel you should not?”

“More than that. I can no longer deny that the law is… flawed. That mercy must sometimes temper it. That is what I did, at my own volition.”

Valjean smiled carefully. “It would seem that you have come a long way since Montreuil.”

“No,” Javert said. “I _lost_ my way. To go back to what I knew would be a lie and therefore unjust, but to continue down this path is to admit that all that went before was unjust. The order of the law was the foundation of my life. Now that a convict has proven himself to be a better man than the servant of the law, that foundation is shattered; meaningless.” He gazed at Valjean. “You destroyed me, monsieur.”

To address Valjean with any term of respect felt alien to him, yet doing so served to underline all that had changed between them. It seemed to unnerve Valjean as much as it did Javert.

“Javert, I… Please believe me when I say that I never meant to cause you harm. On the contrary!”

He considered the dirt-covered man before him. “No, I do not believe that you did. Why set up such an elaborate scheme when all you had to do to be rid of me was pull that trigger?”

Valjean stared at him for a long moment. When he made to come closer, Javert raised a hand to ward him off. Valjean froze in place.

“You do not need to do this,” the older man whispered.

Javert pulled the glass seal from his pocket and laid it on the parapet beside his hat. “When an officer makes an inexcusable fault, he must do the honourable thing and resign. I already resigned from my position as police inspector for my failure. However, I did not only trespass against the law. I see now that all my life I have trespassed against something much greater than codes and tribunals. That, too, requires a resignation, one of another nature.”

“You speak of inexcusable faults, but are you sure that is what you have committed? Before the law perhaps, but not before God. If you see that you have been wrong and are willing to choose another path, God is sure to forgive.”

Javert shook his head. “Perhaps God forgives, but I do not. I cannot. Not when I have betrayed everything I strived for; what I believed in.” His chest trembled as he breathed deeply. “No, I must resign. Leave now, so that I can.”

A laden silence hovered between them. Javert had expected Valjean to object fiercely, possibly even deck him so as to prevent him climbing the parapet. He tensed in preparation, but Valjean did no such thing. Only at long last, the man shuffled two steps forward, but made no attempt to seize Javert. His hands hung by his side and when he spoke, his voice was strained but soft:

“Years ago, in Montreuil, you asked Monsieur Madeleine for your dismissal. I did not give it then, because I knew that if I did, I would be doing you great injustice.” His shoulders sagged. “But now… Now I fear that convincing you not to resign would be an even greater injustice.” He swallowed visibly as he extended his hand. Javert momentarily closed his eyes when that hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“I implore you to reconsider,” said Valjean, “but only you know what it is you need to solve your predicament. It pains me that my actions brought you to this, and I would right it if I could.” He squeezed Javert’s shoulder with a terrifying gentleness. “Should you want to arrest me after all, or have need of me for any other reason, please come and find me at Rue de l’Homme Armé. If not, I hope you will find what you seek, whatever you decide to do.”

Javert did not speak as Valjean’s hand lifted. He did not move as the man turned and walked away, nor while Valjean was still in sight. Soon, though, he could not see quite so clearly anymore. His eyes, to his great shame, had filled with these things that were lifelong strangers to him: tears. Javert raised his hand to his face to wipe them away, but at the touch of wetness on his skin, something inside him cracked. Overcome, he sobbed silently into his hand as salty droplets ran down his cheeks.

Change upon change compounded tonight. What had brought on this one? How could he, who was said to have a heart of wood, be made to cry over the gesture of a man he both abhorred and respected? What had that hand on his shoulder meant that it should break him so?

Kindness, Javert concluded with a wry, thin-lipped smile. That hand had been a gesture of kindness, but of a sort Javert had never conceived possible. He had once said to Monsieur Madeleine that it was easy to be kind but difficult to be just. In truth, he had never believed Valjean capable of being just in any way. Yet tonight, Valjean had not bestowed the easy, selfish kindness of forcefully saving Javert from himself. No, Valjean had done him the honour, the self- _less_ kindness, of accepting Javert’s choice regardless of his own sentiments.

A bitter taste rose in his mouth as he realised how that irrational, destructive thing now proved to be capable of being magnanimous; even just!

More tears fell as he cradled his head in his hands. Those last pieces of his world that were still recognisable to him had now crumbled to dust before his eyes. All he had been had shattered. All he had believed in was destroyed. He had been wrong about so many things for so long; mistakes he could never set right or even atone for in any other way but the most absolute. Going back was never an option. All he had left was to go forward, and that path headed in one direction, and one direction alone.

His vision was still blurred as he climbed atop the parapet. He leaned forward a fraction and gazed into the depth. The abyss was as dark as it had been since he first arrived here, although the roar of the river somehow louder now. He could not tell how far down it was, nor did he want to know. He would find out soon enough.

Javert straightened his back once more. His face still wet with tears, but he did not bother to dry them. He raised his eyes to the starless night.

“I am sorry, Valjean,” he whispered, and leapt.

 

 


End file.
